The Shadowed Path

9. Lawrence

9

Lawrence

Rather than answering Rhys's question, the ridiculously handsome Fae looked us both over with half-lidded eyes. He didn't seem to be concerned about being outnumbered. He moved to pluck another string on his harp, but Rhys snapped his fingers, and a thick leather glove appeared on the other Fae's hand.

"No magic, Bard."

A deep sigh, then a sulky, "Very well." With a shake of his hand, the glove disappeared.

Rhys made an exasperated sound. "I am a prince of Faerie, and I command you to tell us who you are and why you're following us."

"Oho, pulling out the authority now, are we? Must feel good after so long."

Something about the Fae's tone and way of speaking struck a familiar chord—no pun intended. “Keep him talking,” I mouthed to Rhys, whose face had turned an unbecoming dark red, his scar a white line against it.

"You must answer my questions under pain of torture." Another finger snap, and a circle of flames sprung up around the mystery Fae.

"Flames, really? How classic of you. And pedestrian." He moved to stomp the edge of the circle, but drew his foot back with a hissed, "More than I expected." He straightened, lifted his chin, and looked at us like we were the ones trapped in a circle of fire. "Gentlemen, we seem to have come to an impasse."

Rhys crossed his arms. "Not really. You tell us who you are, and I'll think about letting you go."

"That's rich coming from a mutilated former Fae prince."

Rhys went to lunge for him, and I held him back with more effort than it should have cost me in gargoyle form. The Fae prince was stronger than he looked, and Reine had said something about her being the stronger of the two.

That only added to her appeal, dammit. I wondered what she would think of the situation. She'd probably be amused. She'd also know who…

The Fae's manner of speaking and costume clicked together in a satisfying deduction. "Troubadour. You're Troubadour, the dark Fae who was helping Reine."

Rhys stopped wriggling in my grasp, and I let him go. He rubbed his shoulder where I had held him and scowled. "Damn, you're a strong brute."

"Well, strong, anyway. I'm still me, not a brute."

Troubadour had been studying us from inside his fiery prison and nodded. "Ah, you're the gentleman scientist gargoyle." He sniffed with nose wrinkled in disdain. "Not sure what she sees in you." His next gesture—running his hand through his thick blond hair—made me want to punch him.

"Better a gargoyle than a vain Fae. What do you want with us?"

"Well, I suppose you won't let me out of this silly fire thing until I tell you. Very well— Oh! Watch out."

Something solid landed on my back, and I found myself in a tussle with a creature that seemed made of claws, teeth, and wet fur. The stench of bait bucket that had been left in the sun too long washed over me and made me fight my own gag reflex.

"Water wolves!" Rhys yelled. Flashes of sky-blue light illuminated the clearing as Rhys engaged them.

Troubadour's bored voice cut through the chaos. "I could help you with this, but you'll have to let me go."

I shook the wolf off my back, and it left a stinging, slimy residue across my shoulders. It shook its shaggy head, which resembled a furred eel face, and lunged at me. Its nose met my fist with a satisfying crunch, and it let forth a gurgling howl and ran off.

Another wave of them came, and Rhys snapped his fingers, releasing Troubadour. The Fae bard struck a note on his harp, and the wolves—about a dozen of them—stopped and sniffed the air.

"Don't just stand there," Troubadour ground out from behind his performer's smile. "Take care of them."

I grabbed the two nearest me and growled as their fur stung my hands, but I bashed their heads together. Rhys shot a funnel of his light blue magic at the four in front of him, making them disappear, but then staggered back and supported himself on a tree. One ran for him, and I kicked it, impaling it on a shard of the obsidian wall, against which they'd trapped us. I shook my hands as the remaining five retreated, then circled us. The waning light of the day reflected in their copper-colored eyes.

"What is that stuff?"

Troubadour wrinkled his nose. "Water wolf slime. Toxic to Fae. Not pleasant for you, I imagine."

"Great." I attempted to wipe my hands on the grass, but what little dew remained had been stomped on and didn't provide much relief. The wolves edged closer.

"Allow me, gentlemen." Troubadour lifted his harp.

"I can't banish many more," Rhys panted. "We need to get out of here."

"Can you fly?" Troubadour asked Rhys.

"No. My wings haven't emerged yet."

"Wait, you have wings?" I gave mine a rustle with a side glance at Troubadour. "I could carry the two of you, but probably not far."

The air around Troubadour shimmered, and leathery, bat-like wings appeared. I couldn't help scowling when he grinned at me and said, "Then it's fortunate I know a safe place nearby. Do you trust me?"

I wanted to say, "Hell, no," but a water wolf we couldn't see howled, and the others joined in. There were now a lot more than five, and their hungry growls rumbled through the air, making my own stomach clench in panic.

Rhys and I looked at each other, and Rhys' tone took on an uncharacteristic resignation. "What other choice do we have?"

Troubadour's smile faded as another howl started a chorus. "Touché. But I can't carry you. It will have to be the gargoyle."

"Lawrence, do this." Rhys cupped his hands, blew into them, and water appeared. "You can call upon your elements here."

"Good to know." I mimicked him, and my hands filled from some unseen source with cool liquid. I used it to wash, and with Rhys' help, removed the slime from my back as best I could. He snapped his fingers, and leather gloves appeared on his hands "in case of residue."

"Makes sense." I knelt so he could climb on my back. Again, his weight surprised me. Between him and the two packs I carried, one in each hand, this would be a workout.

I can handle it. My inner gargoyle's voice sounded a lot like mine, but sometimes I didn't want to believe it was me. Other times, like now, I wanted to own its confidence.

Troubadour didn't wear a watch, but he looked at his wrist. "When you're ready, gentlemen?"

"Lead the way."

With a couple of powerful downstrokes, he lifted off. I crouched, then jumped and flew after him. When I looked back, the wedge-like faces of the water wolves stared up at us. One jumped and snapped at the air—a warning they'd be waiting if we fell?

Troubadour led us straight up the wall, which curved inward, instead of over the woods. The higher he flew, the more my lungs burned with the exertion of hauling Rhys and the thinness of the air. One would think that an environment with large, winged creatures would have better oxygenation. I made a mental note to jot that down when I could. I'd brought a notebook to record my impressions so I wouldn't be caught unprepared when I next encountered a Fae in Atlanta. Which I hoped would be never. The last one had left me with a bruised heart…

…and the answer to the question that had plagued me since childhood—who had killed my father. The murderer now rode on my back.

It would be easy to slip him off, let him tumble to the shards below…

I shook my head, eliciting an, "Oy, what's that about?" from behind me. Rhys tightened his grip. Unfortunately, so did my inner gargoyle, which relished having been released for so long. Troubadour turned and headed straight toward the wall.

"What are you doing?" I shouted.

"Trust me!"

He disappeared, and rather than trusting him, I put my faith in my inner gargoyle sense that the rock would welcome me. As for what became of Rhys…